


Take Care of Those You Call Your Own

by tioupfic



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (sort of), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, crowley doesn't have good coping mechanisms but az is gonna help him, crowley invented the mullet, i didn't mean for this to be multiple chapters but it is, no one can change my mind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-07 20:09:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19092247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tioupfic/pseuds/tioupfic
Summary: Crowley has the Trifecta of Big Coping Mechanisms(tm): sleeping, fucking up his hair, and binge drinking. It takes Aziraphale a while to recognize the patterns, but once he does, he tries to help.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is so self-indulgent. i'm halfway through the second chapter, but that one is gonna take more time to get through so i wanted to break it up into more than one chapter. 
> 
> i've been in this fandom for idk 10 years? but it's been a while since i've written anything for it, so i hope this is up to everyone's standards. 
> 
> this chapter explores coping mechanism 1 and 2. 
> 
> (for once, the title is not a regina spektor song lol. it's from queen's good company.)

Over the centuries, Aziraphale learned that Crowley had three main coping mechanisms when he felt overwhelmed. 

The first was sleeping. By the 19th century, the two had become quite friendly; the Arrangement was serving them well, and Aziraphale found that the demon’s company was surprisingly amicable. They had grown into a comfortable habit of exchanging long letters when they weren’t physically in the same location. Aziraphale cherished receiving these letters; he truly was enjoying the 19th century and its etiquette. Once again, Crowley had surprised him with how articulate he was and how thoughtful – he always asked after Aziraphale’s interests. It was almost like he was capable of caring. 

Then, one day a few years into the century, he received an unusually short letter. Crowley had explained that he was tired and might not respond in a timely manner. Aziraphale had no idea that he meant to disappear for decades. 

The angel continued writing letters, telling the demon of his whereabouts and new interests. When a quarter of a century went by with no response – this was the longest period in which they hadn’t communicated since the 1600s – he decided to pay a visit to the address he had been sending letters to. He had to do some impressive mental gymnastics to justify this trip, but ultimately he told himself that he had to keep an eye on his adversary, lest the demon was plotting something behind his back. It wasn’t the best explanation, but if heaven asked, at least he had an excuse. 

He found Crowley asleep, with a pile of unopened letters in the room. 

Aziraphale sighed. The demon looked quite peaceful sleeping, his long hair unusually tangled and his features completely unguarded. Aziraphale wasn’t sure, though, how he felt about this… nap. On the one hand, Crowley must really be tired, but on the other, now Aziraphale was wondering how long this would go on. He was surprised that he felt… disappointed… to imagine an indefinite time without exchanging letters, or without meeting up in little bars. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way – shouldn’t even be spending time with the demon in the first place – but there it was, regardless. He looked down one more time at his sleeping adversary/friend, readjusted the wool blanket on top of him, and went back to his life. 

He found himself thinking of Crowley every so often throughout the century. Would Crowley agree to dance the gavotte with him? What would Crowley say about Wilde’s writing? And why… had Crowley chosen this century to just sleep? 

The next time Aziraphale saw Crowley was in 1941. This time, with one hundred years of separation between them, he was completely sure about his feelings: he was definitely in love. 

The second coping mechanism Aziraphale noticed was that Crowley would drastically change his hair every so often. Crowley claimed he was merely trying to “keep up with the times” but Aziraphale had since become much more observant when it came to his demon. It pained him to see his friend struggle with so much anxiety while trying to keep up a cool appearance. 

Over the centuries, Crowley had made some truly, deeply questionable fashion choices, in Aziraphale’s opinion. This, however, was actually concerning. 

It was the early 1970s, and after growing his hair out for a good handful of years, it seemed like the demon had given himself a short haircut in the front of his head, while leaving the long hair in the back. Aziraphale had never seen anything like this. 

“My dear, what happened to your hair?” he asked, casually touching a longer strand as he sat down at the bar they were meeting at. “You cut it?” 

Behind his sunglasses, Crowley rolled his eyes. “It’ll catch on, believe you me. Business in the front,” he ran his hand through the part that was cropped short, “and party in the back.” 

Aziraphale smiled fondly, if a little sadly. As an angel, and more importantly as Crowley’s friend, he knew a half-truth when he heard one. “And how are you doing, my dear?” 

Crowley sighed. He had, in fact, cut his hair in a drunken moment of stress; he was working on designing an entire highway and it wasn’t going particularly smoothly. He had come home one night, cold, wet, and exhausted, and then he had had too much to drink and decided it was time to change his hair. Why this was a go-to stress relief, he had no idea; maybe it was a small act of control that gave him back some autonomy. Whatever the reason, the angel had seemed to pick up that drastic hair changes meant increased stress in Crowley’s life. 

“It’s the damned motorway, angel. Think I bit off more than I can chew with this one. But they kept asking me what I was working on and I could only think of so many ideas… they really weren’t happy with ‘I’ve been gluing coins to the sidewalks in tourist locations’.” 

“Ah.” Aziraphale paused thoughtfully. “I suppose I can understand to some degree. Some of the temptations I’ve done for you were, quite frankly, tedious.” He paused again. “Not that I enjoy doing any temptations more than you enjoy giving benedictions.” He paused a third time. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make this about me. There’s not…. My word I can’t believe I’m going to ask this, but, there’s not anything I can do to make it easier for you, is there?” 

Crowley visibly lit up at this offer. 

“You’re not half bad with computers, right?”

Aziraphale wasn’t. He liked computers; they helped him balance his books. In the end, seeing the demon smile was worth agreeing to one computer hack. But that was it. Over the next few years, Crowley took care of two more hacks and moving some markers, but the project didn’t seem to stress him out as much after that conversation. 

Aziraphale hated the mustache Crowley grew, but at least that dreadful mullet was gone in time. It was unfortunate, however, that it did actually catch on.


	2. Chapter 2

Something had been off about Crowley lately, and Aziraphale was mentally kicking himself for not realizing sooner. Everything had seemed fine immediately following Armageddon’t, but as the weeks went by, Crowley gradually began to seem… stranger than usual. 

At first, Aziraphale relished the more frequent calls and visits. After everything they had been through, it was nice to have someone who understood exactly what it felt like. Things took a turn, however, about two and a half weeks later. Crowley had always called at reasonable hours before then, and usually to talk about something coherent. 

Aziraphale felt himself worry in the seconds it took to answer the phone one morning. Maybe he was still a little jumpy after everything. He certainly had the right to be. When he heard Crowley’s voice, his worry increased. 

“Angel, it’s me.”

“Crowley! Good word, is everything ok? It’s 3 AM!” 

“Angel…” there was a horrible pause before Aziraphale heard the demon take a deep breath and start again. “Angel, what do you think it’s like to be a worm? I mean, I can always shipshaft into a worm but I’ll never know what it’s like for a worm to just be a worm, yknow?” 

Aziraphale sighed. It was all too easy to know what this was. 

“Crowley, my dear, you’re drunk. Go back to bed.” 

“I don’t want this level of… consciousness anymore. ‘S no fun.” 

Aziraphale sighed again. “Look, dear, we can talk about this after you go back to sleep. You’re not going to remember a word I say in this state.” 

“Angel…” 

“How long have you been drinking?”

“Uh. What day’s it?”

“Wednesday.”

“Um.” There was another horrible pause. Aziraphale was beginning to give up on getting an answer. “Think I ssstarted… two days from when we sswapped back?” 

Aziraphale’s mouth dropped. “Crowley! You’re telling me you’ve been drunk for almost two weeks?”

“Heh. You didn’t notice? Imussst be pretty functional then,” came the slurred response. 

“Anthony! What, pray tell, the fuck is wrong with you?” Aziraphale immediately felt bad about swearing, but he forgave himself considering the stress they’d been under recently and the fact that Crowley hadn’t gone on this long of a bender even after the Spanish Inquisition. 

The silence stretched on. 

“Crowley? My dear, I’m sorry. I’m awfully concerned about you, that’s all.” 

“You remembered?” 

“Remembered what, dear?”

“M’ firssst name. Y’never call me that.” 

“Oh, right. Of course I remembered… Listen. Are you ok? To be alone right now?”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Do you think you can sober up for me?” 

“Oh! That’s why I called. Right. I tried to sober up but I forgot how to. Never been drunk thisss long.” 

Aziraphale sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Crowley’s tone was lighthearted, but he was sloshed, so there was no telling how he really felt. There really was only one option for the angel. 

“I’ll be at yours in five minutes.” 

“Wahoo!” said the incredibly drunk demon. 

Aziraphale let himself in when he arrived at Crowley’s flat. 

“A voice from behind me reminds me… spread out your wings, you are an angel,” Crowley sang along with the song he was listening to. 

Aziraphale smiled as he watched his demon singing and dancing (badly), dressed only in a black tanktop and boxers. 

“Dance with the devil, in beat with the band, to hell with all of you hand in hand”

Aziraphale had heard this album countless times in Crowley’s company, and he always thought it was nice how seamlessly it flowed from that to “funny how love came tumbling down with Adam and Eve.” He would never tell Crowley, of course. It was too much fun to rile the dear boy up with a dismissive “oh, bebop” to admit that he actually liked some of the music he heard in the Bentley. 

So instead, he announced his presence by loudly stating “Crowley, dear, it’s me.”

That was all he needed to say before Crowley came rushing unsteadily to greet him. 

“’Ziraphale!! S’nice to see you!” Crowley threw his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders, letting the angel support his weight. 

“Ok, my dear, let’s get you back to bed,” Aziraphale suggested as he moved his demon towards the bedroom. “We’ve had quite enough fun for tonight and we’re very tired.” 

“Don’ wanna sleep, I’ll have nightmares,” Crowley slurred, still clinging and still moving with Aziraphale towards the bedroom. 

“Oh? Has this been happening a lot recently?” Aziraphale gently lowered Crowley onto the bed, arranging his body in a safe and comfortable position. Crowley nodded in response. “Can you tell me about them?” 

“They make us fight them,” Crowley said softly. 

“Oh.” Aziraphale took off his shoes and laid down next to Crowley. “OH,” he repeated as he realized who the they and them were in that sentence. Crowley had already expressed his anxiety about the possibility of another, bigger battle, but it was just now dawning on Aziraphale how frightened he really was.

He should say something comforting. But, for all that he was an angel, Aziraphale was terrible at providing comfort. At the same time, he couldn’t stand the way Crowley was looking at him so unguarded, the fear and anxiety clear on his face. 

Aziraphale reached over and ran his fingers through the demon’s hair. “My dear,” he said softly and with a conviction that he hoped would be comforting. He hoped it would convey his meaning that ‘whatever happens, I will always be here; I’ve got you’. 

Crowley sighed, enjoying Aziraphale’s grounding touch, and closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he whispered just before losing consciousness. 

The demon slept fitfully and awoke shaking and in a cold sweat. He opened his eyes to find Aziraphale, actually sleeping for once, next to him. He didn’t remember why or when the angel had come over. He furrowed his eyebrows as he tried to remember… really anything since that one Saturday. How much time had passed? Had he really just been drinking ever since? ‘That’s so pathetic,’ he thought to himself, ‘get it together Anthony. Oh! Anthony! Aziraphale called me that recently… why did he call me that….’ 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale sat up. 

“Huh?” Crowley snapped out of his thoughts and looked at the angel, who was looking at him with an expression of concern. 

“Oh, there you are, my dear,” Aziraphale reached over and held Crowley’s face in his hands. Crowley tilted his head slightly in confusion. “You were having one of your… oh what are they called… your panic thingies.” 

“Attack.”

“That’s right.”

“I was?”

“Yes, dear boy. You hadn’t noticed?” 

“Huh. Guess not.” 

Aziraphale pulled him closer and hugged Crowley tightly. “Why didn’t you tell me it had gotten so bad? You know I’d do everything in my power to help you.” 

“I… don’t know, really.” Aziraphale let go and studied Crowley’s face. “I think I was just… too drunk to realize how anxious I was.”

“Dear boy.”

“What a mess, huh?” Crowley smiled sadly. That did it for Aziraphale, who felt like his heart was going to break out of compassion. 

“Alright, get up,” he said, standing and pulling the demon out of bed. “I’m going to make us a nice cup of tea, and we’re going to discuss this and figure out how to get you better.”

“You aren’t going to fix me in one night, angel,” Crowley bit back in protest, though he still followed Aziraphale out of the bedroom. 

Aziraphale stopped and turned around. “Well, no,” he admitted. “But I have to try something.” He paused for a moment, trying to pick his words precisely. “You’re in pain.” 

He watched the anger drain from Crowley’s face. The demon broke eye contact and sighed before looking up again. It was clear that he had made a decision: if he was going to have to fight to get his sanity back, he was going to fight hard. If nothing else, at least so Aziraphale didn’t have to look so concerned. 

“You mentioned tea?” 

Aziraphale smiled fondly as they both made their way into the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> crow is listening to queen ii because i'm a self-projecting motherfucker


End file.
